


I am white, you are blaugrana

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Long-Distance Friendship, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Transfers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1453360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But the love between soulmates is never an easy road to happiness. Through the years, people and situations interfere, making them doubt and wonder what the real meaning of love is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

The couch sank a little as Cristiano sat down with a heavy sigh, placing his phone on the coffee table. The rain was hitting mercilessly against the windows of his apartment, the lights were dim, casting weird shadows on the walls. Those walls, which he finally had the nerve to decorate after a long time thinking that England wasn’t his place. He didn’t understand the language, he disliked the food, and most of all his missed the Portguese weather, the freedom which waved through the air which he hadn’t found in any other country.

And now he would leave it all behind again. For, what Jorge called it, a new adventure. The only thing Cristiano saw was another five months of feeling like an outsider. Spanish media was the worst, or so everyone always told him. He didn’t know for sure yet, but he would find out soon he reckoned. What led up to this point? What made him want to leave this place? He didn't know why he was having so much trouble, now that he tied the knot. He looked sideways, knowing the reason in his heart.

Gerard smiled sadly at him, tears clung to his cheeks, which had started rolling the second Cristiano had ended his phone call. They didn’t say anything for a while, not knowing the right words to say at a moment like this. It was eventually Gerard who whispered the heavy words into the room like a gush of wind during a storm.

“So now we’ll play in Clasicos?”

Cristiano sniffed, falling out of his train of thoughts as he felt his own tears hitting his hands.

“You’ll be wearing _blaugrana_ and I’ll be wearing white,” he sighed, leaning his head on Gerard’s shoulder.

His tall friend immediately wrapped him in his arms, kissing his temple softly. “You’re the most expensive player in the world,” he whispered against Cristiano’s unruly hair.

“I do not care about that,” Cristiano muttered against Gerard’s chest, feeling himself so small whenever his friend held him.

“I know you don’t. But… I am proud of you,” Gerard said, pulling back to look Cristiano in the eye.

His friend smiled a little, just the corners of his mouth turning upwards. “Who will help me learn the language now?” he whispered. “You already know Spanish.”

Gerard smiled, even though he didn’t feel like smiling at all. Cristiano just had that effect on people. Or, maybe he just had that effect on him. “We can call? You know, lessons over the phone. I am sure we can work our way out,” he said.

Cristiano just stared blankly at him. “Gerard, are you deaf?” he eventually whispered after a few long, silent seconds. Gerard frowned, not understanding his friend, which was probably a first for them.

Cristiano scoffed softly at the oblivious look on Gerard's face. “You actually believe we can call each other every night, like nothing has changed?”

Gerard shrugged. “Nothing has to, if we don’t want to. It’s just distance, Cristiano. No need to get so worked up about that,” he said.

Cristiano stood up from the couch in a sudden movement. “Just distance? Geri, you don’t understand. This is _Real Madrid and Barcelona_ we’re talking about,” Cristiano insisted. “Even Iker Casillas and Xavi Hernandez have trouble staying friends, and they have known each other since fucking forever.”

Gerard also stood up from the couch, enveloping Cristiano in another hug, but the smaller man wrestled out of his arms. “Aren’t you convinced that our friendship is more than all this?” Gerard insisted when Cristiano took a step back.

“Come on, Geri. You know that I love you. You know I do—but please, please stay realistic. You’re a left-back and I am a left-winger. We are _ordered_ to play against each other in the most horrible games,” Cristiano said, his eyes filling up again even though he was the one saying the truth. He loved Gerard, but the older man was a dreamer and always saw the best in everything. But he couldn’t let himself be convinced by his friend this time, because that would only hurt more in the end.

Gerard saw Cristiano moving back until his back hit the wall, and he closed his eyes. He sank down onto the couch again, trading his fingers through his hair, the silence heavy between them.

Cristiano broke it like glass with his sudden words. “I’ll miss you. So much.”

Gerard looked up, seeing Cristiano with his hands before his eyes, rubbing the tears away. “Geri, how am I supposed to do this without you?” he exclaimed, punching his fist against the wall.

Gerard stood up from the couch, taking Cristiano’s hands in his own. “Keep in touch with me,” he whispered.

Cristiano closed his eyes, a frustrated groan escaping his lips. “That’s not _enough_! I need your humour, your crazy ideas. The way you hug me out of the blue without any reason. I need that, Geri,” Cristiano insisted.

“I need that, too, Cris,” Gerard whispered, inching closer, their chests almost touching. He felt Cristiano’s shallow breaths on his lips, and he kept eye contact with his friend. “I need your voice,” Gerard continued. “The way you say my name with your accent. That weird food you always make whenever we win and I eat it just because it makes you smile and I love… I love seeing you smile.”

When Cristiano closed the distance between them, everything went hazy for a second, and Gerard kept his eyes open in shock, staring at his friend when he pulled back.

Cristiano was on his toes, and slowly stood again, a blush staining his wet cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered, his eyes still on Gerard’s lips as he licked his own.

“Wh..Why?” Gerard whispered, confusion whirling in his heart.

“Because tomorrow I can’t anymore. I won’t get another chance… so, tonight. Tonight’s our last night together, no barries,” Cristiano said, his hands at Gerard’s sides, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirts.

“Tonight,” Gerard echoed, his hands sliding in Cristiano’s neck, cupping his face. This time Gerard closed his eyes before he felt the soft feeling of Cristiano’s lips against his own, and he deepened the kiss right away.

They both didn't remember falling next to each other onto the bed, but when Cristiano woke up in the middle of the night, Gerard’s arms wrapped protectively around his body, he lied awake from that hour until the sun peeked out over Manchester again.

 

Their goodbye is silent, just a hug and a promise to call at least once a week.

And after that… one became a madridista, and the other one became a culé.


	2. Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their lives meet and grow apart over the years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wanted to make this a lot of chapters, but that just doesn't work. They rarely see each other, and it's really hard to make a chapter about those brief events.  
> So that's why I made this, and it's basically a numeration of snapshots of their lives. I might add an Epilogue, but I am not sure yet. Just let me know after you've read it! :)  
> Oh, and this chapter is mostly written in the present tense. The first part is in the past tense, and if there are any mistakes or if there are some mixed up tenses--just try to ignore it haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first year was supposed to be the hardest, or so everyone told Cristiano. But he liked it. Madrid, Spain, the team and the way they played football and treated it like an art. The Madrileños took him in like he was a long lost son, and the pressure of the fans only made him stronger, making him improve his game every match. He wanted to win trophies with this team, in this city.  It was indeed a rollercoaster of emotions and obligations, torn between feeling guilty for Manchester but overjoyed when he celebrated a goal with the likes of Raul and Guti. The money he got in Manchester wasn’t bad at all, but he couldn’t help but swallow every time he checked his bank account. Eventually he stopped checking it.

Even in this whirlwind of events, he managed to stay in touch with Gerard. The  emails became more frequent, because the phone calls always made both of them sad in the end. He missed his friend the first months, but now he had gotten used to not having the tall man around to ruffle his feathers. Whenever he couldn’t sleep at night, he would watch a summary of a Barcelona match. But since a few months, after his first few Clasicos, he got a sour feeling in his stomach whenever he watched Barcelona. There was a feeling of apprehensiveness in him, he didn’t like their football, and some of their players he just couldn’t stand. Why? He had no idea. When he mentioned it to Marcelo, his friend had laughed loudly, like he always did. Instead of laughing along, this had made him insecure, thinking that he was asking a weird question. But then Marcelo stopped laughing, and with a smile on his face his friend told him how his blood was turning white. He didn’t understand that either.

 

~~~

 

Cristiano opens his eyes, gazing at the alarm clock on his nightstand. His legs are tangled in the sheets and he feels the soft breeze of the air conditioner along his feet. It is a cold night, but he isn’t bothered by it. He silently wonders why he woke up until he sees the screen of his phone lighting up again, and he reaches out, almost knocking over the glass on his nightstand.

“Yeah?” he answers without checking the caller ID.

“Happy birthday, Cristiano,” comes the flawless Spanish. He feels his body tense a little at the sound of Gerard’s voice. How long had it been since they spoke to each other?

He counts four months to the last Clasico, until Gerard speaks again. “I’m sorry I woke you up, but it’s exactly twelve o’clock—” The words trail off but he knows what Gerard means, why he calls exactly on the switch of the days. He had done it before, back in Manchester.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles. “Thanks, though.” He hears Gerard hum in a soft affirmative, silence ringing through the line, and he simply listens to the talking in the background.

“Where are you?” he eventually asks.

Gerard is silent for a while, and Cristiano wonders if his friend hadn’t heard him. “We’re at Dani’s.. With the team. We won tonight, didn’t you know?”

“I do not care about Barcelona,” he says sleepily, rubbing the back of his hand along his brow.

“I wish you were here though,” Gerard whispers. He hears a hint of sadness in his friend’s voice and wonders if he should ask what was on Gerard’s mind. Then there was a loud crash in the background, followed by waves of laughter. He hears Gerard laugh. He pictures him with his teammates, drinking and laughing, making fun of Real Madrid’s loss earlier that day. The sour feeling in his mouth returns.

“I’m glad I am not,” he whispers, before hanging up. He falls asleep after that, an empty, grey sleep which erases all sadness and tiredness from him for a while. The following morning he doesn’t know if Gerard had really called or if he had another dream about him.

 

~~~

 

“What do you feel?” Kaká asks him one day. He lies next to him on the couch, the sun setting quietly in the room.

“Nothing,” he whispers, glancing at the television which shows Gerard holding up the Copa del Rey, white shirts hanging around slumped shoulders disappearing in the background.

 

~~~

 

His index finger hovers above the backspace key for a few seconds, eventually deleting the words he had written. He dials Gerard’s phone number, listening to the dial tone as Cristiano Junior sits in his lap.

“Hey Cris,” Gerard says when he answers.

“Hey. How are you?” Cristiano asks, playing with Junior’s curls with his free hand.

“Good.. just good,” he hears Gerard say, imagining him shrugging.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

He sighs deeply, wondering why it was so hard for him to say. He used to tell Gerard everything, all of his sides and all of his feelings. He thinks that maybe the arrogance of Real Madrid had gotten to him. And if it did, he didn’t want it to reach him, to reach his heart and change who he was at the very core. “Thank you, Geri,” he whispers, blinking down at Cristiano Junior.

“For what?”

“Standing up for me, again.”

He hears Gerard chuckle softly. “Why? Do you think I have forgotten who you are? Of course I will defend you, I _know_ you, Cristiano.”

“You do. You do know me. I just don’t know myself anymore.”

 

~~~

 

He looks around the studio, wearing the new kit for this season. The summer bronze of Madeira still clinging to his skin and the highlights in his hair are even more blonde now. Around him, the crew is moving and preparing in all haste.

He sits down with the director, talking over the events of today’s shoot. “We’re still waiting for the arrival of Gerard Pique, but it shouldn’t be too long now. Traffic is busy today,” the director says, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he looks over the spreadsheet on his clipboard.

As if on cue, the door opens, Gerard walking inside as if no one had been already waiting half an hour. Cristiano stands up, feeling his entire expression brighten as Gerard makes his way over.

“Still tiny,” Gerard grins against his hair as they embrace each other tightly. Cristiano feels, hears Gerard’s heartbeat and wonders if Gerard can feel his heart racing, too.

“Still skinny,” he smirks, receiving a punch against his arm from his old friend.

While they prepare Gerard in front of a mirror, he takes his place before the camera. They are just test shots at first, and he only stands still, looking in the lens with a stern look. Gerard watches him through the mirror. He nudges his shoulder later on. “You look older,” is his remark.

Cristiano just nods, because Gerard is right. “Madrid does that to you.” Gerard doesn’t say anything to that, because he doesn’t know what Madrid does to someone.

Cristiano thinks it’s strange, standing next to Gerard in the studio, both wearing their team’s kits. As if the universe is telling them how it was before, how it is now, and how it will be in the future. He is glad he doesn’t believe in the power of the universe.

They laugh together, about each other’s pictures, but he thinks their laughs fade too fast. They used to last longer. But at least they can still be genuine and he feels like that is more than some people in their world get.

 

~

 

They are in his car, driving home. To his home. Gerard mentioned not getting to see his place, and even though he has lived there for more than two years now, he lets Gerard come with him. He wants him to come, walk through his living room, spread his scent so he will know, that when Gerard leaves again, the feeling of his presence will still linger. He points out a few things first, Gerard looking around with big eyes and eventually admitting that Madrid is slightly more beautiful than Barcelona. He doesn’t know why, there is a short wave of self-satisfaction coercing through him, before it fades away again. They are silent for the rest of the way, Gerard pulling his hoodie over his head as he spots a few paparazzi.

Eventually, when they left the centre of Madrid behind, driving through the streets with mansions and estates on either sides, Gerard smiles. “I knew you would buy a huge place,” he says wistfully.

Cristiano smiles, looking at his friend. “It fits me, no?” as he parks the car on the driveway. Gerard gets out before him, looking up at the house. They walk inside, ending up on the couch after a tour. He is happy that Cristiano Junior is with his mom today, because he can’t keep his hands off Gerard.

They kiss quickly, in between their conversation, like short reminders that _yes, we are actually here_. Gerard’s hands find their way underneath his shirt while they talk, and as it always had been, they do not run out of things to talk about.

It’s only later that they sit on the grass in the garden, Cristiano’s back against Gerard’s strong chest. “How is Kaká?” Gerard says against his ear as the sun is setting, the evening almost making place for the night.

“He deserves better,” Cristiano answers, his fingers entwining with Gerard’s on his lower abdomen. “He knows it, too. But he doesn’t leave me,” he says, eyes staring at the tops of the trees, thinking of Ricardo’s soft smiles in the mornings and the way he carries Cristiano Junior up the stairs.

Birds are singing their last song as the day dies, the breeze of the wind making the water in his pool ripple. “You are the one that deserves the best, Cristiano,” Gerard whispers, his warm lips trailing along his cheekbone, making him shiver.

“Then why do I not have you?” he mumbles, turning around in Gerard’s arms to face him.

“You do have me. I am right here.”

Cristiano gently pushes Gerard onto his back, the grass aligning his body. He let his finger trail on the left side of Gerard’s chest as he shakes his head. “Cesc has your heart,” he whispers.

Gerard shakes his head. “He doesn’t. He is my Kaká. But you never believe you can be somebody’s number one.”

He feels Gerard’s big hands along his side, pulling him down to lay on top of him. He trails his fingers through the grass, pulling a few strands out of it and lets them fall on Gerard’s face. Gerard chuckles as he wipes them away.

“You talk too much,” Cristiano says, and Gerard just nods because he's right, and he cups his face, pushing their lips together in a real kiss. Tongue and teeth slide along each other, Gerard’s hands tangling in his hair to keep his close.

Cristiano knows it will not last longer than this night, since Gerard’s plane was leaving tomorrow morning again and he would put on the _blaugrana_ and cuddle with Messi who he thinks is the best player in the world. They would have to forget about each other for weeks, maybe months until there comes another possibility of meeting each other. And Cristiano wonders, he wonders if it’s all worth it, if he shouldn’t settle down by now and give up the hope he always felt burning at the pit of his stomach.

He knows their kiss lasted long, way longer than normal, but when he pulls back, it all seems to have happened in just a few seconds. Because this is how it is, and how it always will be. Fast, but meaningful. Forever, yet only for a little while.

 

~~~

 

And Cristiano tells himself every time, over and over, that whatever is going on between him and Gerard, isn’t something that lasts. He tries to convince himself that they will grow out of it eventually, that Gerard will realise how incredibly stupid he is being by doing this. That the day will come soon when Gerard tells him about his real feelings for Cesc, and his inability to keep lying to the love of his life. Cristiano waits for that. But some days he thinks how his own life could be different if he never met Gerard all those years ago in a gloomy time of his life, but then Kaká rolls on top of him, attacking the sensitive skin in his neck and Cristiano just forgets about it all for a while as his finger tangle up in Kaká’s soft hair.

 

~~~

 

He starts to believe that he has fallen in love. The days fall into an easy pattern when Kaká is around. They take care of Junior together, Kaká waiting in the car as he walks Junior inside for his first day of school. He’s there when Cristiano breaks down, and Cristiano is there when Kaká gets injured. There is a special kind of anger and feeling of impotence with each game he plays while Kaká sits on the bench. It makes him reckless. He tells the press that he’s sad, he stops celebrating his goals and the whole team suffers because of him.

But that’s just who he is, he tells Gerard later on the phone, he loves possessively, he loves in an egoistic way. Gerard tells him to never lose that sort of love, that egoistic love is true love and Cristiano doesn’t lose it. He still loves in the same way when Kaká tells him, with tears in his eyes, that he’s returning home. Cristiano thinks he’s joking, because his home had become _their_ home in the last months, and that Kaká felt the same about him.

But no, it wasn’t meant to be, Kaká tells him.

“Meant to be?” Cristiano exclaims, his eyes burning. “No love that is meant to be ever makes it in this world.”

Kaká smiles sadly at him. “You’re talking about Gerard.”

“I don’t remember uttering a syllable of his name,” Cristiano states, frowning. It was always Gerard’s fault according to Kaká, the main reason of their fights was whenever Cristiano called him too long for Kaká’s liking.

“You don’t say his name, but it’s in your eyes, love.”

“Cut the sentimental bullshit, Ricardo! Gerard is four hundred kilometres away in fucking Barcelona, practically married to Cesc. And I am here. I am with you, and have been for months,” Cristiano points out, an angry tear rolling down his cheek.

“You’ve been with him as well,” Kaká says softly.

“You think I wanted that?” Cristiano scoffs. “I _love_ you.”

Kaká walks closer, crowding into Cristiano’s space. “You know, Cris, your vision of love is wrong. That makes everything you say right now completely wrong. If you _love_ someone, you don’t want to be with anyone else, in any way. Not even in with your long distance best friend.”

Cristiano stays silent, leaning his head against the wall. “Then apparently I don’t love him as well, since I have been with you.”

Kaká lays his head against Cristiano’s shoulder. “I have always known this wouldn’t last. But what about you?” he asks.

“I thought it would, since our love is egoistic. And someone told me that’s what love is,” he whispers against Kaká’s temple, trailing apologetic kisses along the soft skin.

“Then you and that person are wrong. Because love is selfless.”

 

~~~

 

They lie next to each other, sheets wrapped around them like an untouchable cocoon, and Cristiano realizes that’s what he needs. To be away from everything, no prying eyes, no judgments. Summer has passed and the autumn was creeping its way back in Spain, also here in Barcelona the temperatures are dropping. He ducks a little deeper underneath the blanket.

He feels Gerard shift behind him, his arm around his waist tightening. “Why are you already awake?” he hears his friend mumble.

Cristiano can’t help the sigh escaping his lips. “Do you ever want to go back?” he whispers, turning around in Gerard’s arms. He winces at the pain shooting through his leg, remembering him of the reason why he’s able to be in Barcelona now instead of on the field.

And he thinks over the vagueness of his question but Gerard understands him nevertheless and says, “Manchester like we knew it is gone, Cristiano.”

Cristiano snuggles closer in Gerard’s arms, his good leg entangling with Gerard’s. “I know..” he whispers. “But everything was so easy back then. And we made it difficult on that last night.”

Gerard pulls back a little to meet his eyes in the dim bedroom, the curtain changing colour with the rising sun. “You regret it?” he asks, and Cristiano notices the hurt tone in his voice.

“No, no. Of course not. But it’s so complicated now.”

“Hey, hey. Shhh,” Gerard shushes him breathily, their lips meeting in a slow kiss. “Nothing is complicated." Cristiano just smiles, turns around in Gerard’s arms again, feeling his strong chest against his back.

Gerard’s breathing evens a few minutes after that, Cristiano figuring that he is sound asleep again. Cristiano sees the pictures on the wall of Gerard’s bedroom. His eyes are fixed on the picture of Gerard and Cesc kissing the World Cup when he says, “I’m sorry I love you, Geri.”

He doesn’t know Gerard is wide awake, staring at his bare back with his kiss still lingering on his breath.

 

~~~

 

He recovers quickly from his injury, thank God, and his first match back is immediately a Clasico in October. Frustration bubbles underneath his surface, and his teammates notice it. Mesut just holds him for a few seconds before they go out of the field. The younger man does that a lot, and Cristiano finds himself relaxing a little underneath his touch.

But then he’s out on the field, and Pep Guardiola is refusing to give him his damn ball. He knows he shouldn’t, but he does it anyway and shoves the Barcelona coach with a push against his shoulder. Before he knows what he just did, and what is happening, he’s surrounded by Barcelona players. Victor Valdès is screaming at him and coming closer, Marcelo trying to pull him away, more people gathering around him.

Until Gerard is there. Cristiano meets his eyes just briefly before Gerard is standing between him and Victor and the rest of his teammates. Cristiano just walks away further with Marcelo dragging him along.

When he calls to speak to Kaká later, he interrupts his now good friend’s sleep with the question, “Is that what love is? Him standing up for me even though it was all my fault?”

He can practically feel Kaká smile against his skin when he tells him, “If you’re wondering, you already know.” Kaká never was one to talk directly, always in riddles. Cristiano doesn’t like it this time.

 

~~~

 

“And? What do you think?” Gerard grins. His face is a little blurry on the screen, Skype is having issues again, but Cristiano can make out the Christmas tree when Gerard angles the iPad towards the corner of his house.

“Well.. it’s a little big, don’t you think?” Cristiano smiles, his eyes studying the huge organism.

The camera wobbles as Gerard turns his iPad back towards his own face. “It’s good, no? Big is good, just like me,” he smiles. Cristiano doesn’t know what’s so funny about that but he laughs for a few straight minutes at that and Gerard laughs along with him. He loves the warm feeling spreading in his lower abdomen as they laugh together, the sound filling his ears.

 

~~

 

Cristiano is softly smiling at the display in front of him. Marcelo, Pepe and Fabio are firing question after question at Alvaro and Jesé, asking them how long they’ve been dating before deciding to tell the team. The two youngsters blush fervently as they stutter out the answers to the questions, and Cristiano feels like he could tease them as well, but he knows what it’s like when he was with Kaká, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Aw, wasn’t that cute?” Fabio asks when he sits down next to Cristiano.

“Incredibly cute,” Cristiano deadpans, pulling his shirt over his head. His hair is still wet, a few drops flinging down onto the tiles of the dressing room. They won another game, the last one before they would all go on winter break.

“So, Cris? Anyone special you’re spending your Christmas with?” Marcelo smiles, as he walks over.

“Yeah, like the girl you were with when you were injured?” Pepe buts in.

Fabio, and Marcelo both raise their eyebrows in question, and Cristiano tells them, words carefully chosen, using the right pronouns to hide the fact that he was talking about a man. And not just any man, someone from Barcelona no less. “So, I guess I want to spend my Christmas with her… I just don’t know how she’ll react to me, and Junior. She also lives kind of far away,” he sighs, trading a comb through his hair before pulling his snapback on.

Marcelo drops to his knees in a dramatic way, grabbing Cristiano’s hand in the process. “But you love her!” he sobbs comically, receiving smirks and chuckles from around the dressing room.

He pulls his friend to his feet again, shaking his head at his behaviour. “I think I do. Ricky says I love in the wrong way,” he blurts.

Everyone falls a little silent at that, because no one really mentioned CrisandKaká ever since the older man left for Milan. “What does he mean by that?” Iker asks, joining their group with the match ball in his hands.

Cristiano shrugs. “He says I love too selfish.”

Marcelo hums. “Well, maybe you used to, when you were with him. But, hear yourself, you don’t want to burden her with a Christmas together and your son. That’s not particularly selfish, right?”

The teammates nodded in agreement and Cristiano smiles. “I guess,” he shrugs. Iker quirks with his head, nodding towards the door.

Cristiano frowns, but then stands up and follows his captain out the door. Iker just walks further through the hallways, until he pushes an emergency exit door open, and they step outside. It’s December, and it’s cold but the small winter sun makes in bearable to lean against the building and stand still.

“I know you’re not seeing a woman at the moment, Cris,” Iker said, just the way he always said things, without finesse.

“What?” Cristiano just asks, the question hopefully giving him some time to think about a way out of this.

Iker clacks the studs on his cleats against the wall and he keeps his eyes on the horizon. “I know. About you and Piqué,” he eventually says. Cristiano feels dread slipping into his legs, making his knees almost giving out underneath him.

“I.. I-Iker, I swear. It’s not like that,” he begins, stuttering.

But Iker interrupts with a flick of his hand. “It’s okay, Cristiano.”

Cristiano gulps, feeling the cold of the wall seeping into his back and he turns sideways to face his captain. “What?”

“Why do you think I try so fucking hard every time to keep my _friendship_ with Xavi alive?”

Cristiano rubbed the side of his head with the palm of his hand. “Because… You two are really good friends?”

Iker scoffs, but it’s not unfriendly. Cristiano recognises himself in the look that Iker gives him. “We are similar, you know? You had Kaká, I have Sergio. But you want Gerard, and I want Xavi,” Iker whispers, still turning the ball around in his hands. His long fingers slid along the leather and Cristiano followed it with his eyes. “So.. what do you suggest I do?” he asks eventually.

Iker looks up. “Love him. Like both of you deserve.”

 

~~~

 

Even though Gerard said yes, he still feels anxious when he’s standing in front of his gate. Barcelona is cold and grey, the bright colours of the last time he was here are faded now, and Cristiano likes Barcelona even less now. He balances Cristiano Junior on one hip as the gate opens and he walks up the long, circular drive-way. Leaves wave around with a new gush of wind, Cristiano Junior stretching out his little arms to catch them.

When the front door opens, revealing Gerard in a sweater and black skinny jeans, Cristiano lets out a relieved sigh while his knees buckle at Gerard’s smile, the taller man walking up towards them. “At last we meet!” Gerard coos at Cristiano Junior, and the boy let’s himself be enveloped by the man’s big hands.

Cristiano smiles as he sees his son swiping his tiny finger along Gerard’s beard. “Merry Christmas,” he says sheepishly, not knowing the right way to greet his friend anyway. Gerard just rolls his eyes at him and turns around towards his house, announcing to Cristiano to grab his suitcases later.

Cristiano smiles at the mistletoe above the door while he kicks off his shoes, already feeling comfortable enough in Gerard’s house to walk around on his socks. Even though he has been here only few times since they started whatever it was they had, something feels right about this place. He smirks at the huge Christmas tree in the corner, it looks more ridiculous up close.

“Come here. I need to show you something,” he hears Gerard’s voice, coming from upstairs.

Cristiano wonders how his friend got to the other floor so fast, but when he gets there as well, and sees Gerard standing in front of a closed door with Cristiano Junior on his hips, he raises his eyebrows in curiosity. “What is it? The naked-room you told me about?” he smiles.

Gerard splutters, “I never said that, idiot.”

Cristiano lets his hand caress the roundness of Gerard’s ass for a second as an apology and the taller man just hums in concession. “You want to see it?” he asks.

He nods and Gerard opens the door, they walk into the room. Cristiano doesn’t do anything but smile. The room is decorated with small Christmas lights and a small bed with reindeer sheets stands in the corner. There is even a tiny Christmas tree with presents underneath. Cristiano is happy that his son is too young to understand the meaning of that, otherwise he maybe would’ve been embarrassed if he tore the presents open right away.

He just turns towards Gerard, who is pointing at the Christmas lights. Cristiano Junior is silently staring, his head against Gerard’s chest. “He likes it,” Cristiano says, leaning against the doorpost.

Gerard looks at him. “I’m glad,” he smiles, and gently puts Cristiano Junior’s diaper butt onto the carpet, the boy crawling over towards the blocks set.

Cristiano pulls Gerard out of the room with a gentle tug on his arm. “You didn’t have to do that, Geri,” he sighs, smiling at the tall man.

“I know,” Gerard says.

Cristiano’s smile gets bigger. “Okay.”

 

~~~

 

“And…?” Gerard asks him, as he comes down from the stairs.

“Sound asleep in thirty-six minutes. It’s a new record,” Cristiano says, sitting next to Gerard onto the couch. Gerard just smiles, and his phone vibrates on the table so he takes it and unlocks the screen. While Gerard is smiling at whatever his phone tells him, Cristiano simply stares. He lets his eyes dart over Gerard’s appearance, appreciating what he has in this moment. Was that his egoistic love again? He doesn’t know what is the right kind of love anymore.

“Geri?” he asks. Gerard looks up from his phone. “Can you love in the wrong way?”

His question makes Gerard put his phone down onto the table, placing it next to the baby monitor. “I.. I think so? What kind of a question is that, at this time?”

Cristiano just shrugs. “Never mind.”

Gerard just sighs, and when he stands up from the couch, Cristiano is worried he might have offended his friend. But then Gerard takes his hand, pulling him gently off the couch, and guiding him towards the front door. Cristiano does what he wants, standing in the hallway.

And Gerard opens the door, and he sees it. He sees the snow falling from the sky, in a feather-light way, cascading down onto the ground where it melts again. Cristiano just looks at the snow, forgetting about Gerard for a second, until his friend speaks up again. “Cristiano, will you look at me?”

Cristiano does, his eyes meeting Gerard’s. “Why do you always love so silently?” Gerard asks him.

Cristiano swallows. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, shivering a little at the cold from outside.

Gerard comes closer, wraps his arms around him. “I mean, why do you never say how you truly feel about someone?”

“Because then I get hurt,” was his answer, too quick, sounding too broken.

He doesn’t like that about Gerard, how he makes him blurt things out, lose his balance. Every moment with Gerard is like standing on a ledge, and every time Gerard touches him it’s like he’s losing his balance over and over again. He looks into Gerard’s eye, practically seeing the abyss his body threatens to fall into, eventually making him feel like to leap first. Leaping into love, into a vast carelessness to be with Gerard. Cristiano avoids Gerard’s eyes, like he had avoided his heart for some time.

But this time, Gerard crooks a finger underneath his chin, making Cristiano look at him again. Cristiano feels something crack inside of him as Gerard’s warm breath inches closer. “Are you going to kiss me underneath a mistletoe?” his voice croaks.

Gerard smiles. “It depends,” he whispers, one of his hands on Cristiano’s side, the other on the doorpost above Cristiano’s head.

“Depends on what?”

“On whether you will stop fighting this, and be with me like you know you want,” Gerard says, looking him in the eye.

Cristiano shrugs, a wobbly smile. “It won’t work. Barcelona and Madrid doesn’t mix,” he mumbles.

“They don’t,” Gerard agreed. “But we do. And right now, I want something from you, Cristiano.”

Cristiano stares up into Gerard’s eyes, seeing the snow still fall from the corner of his own gaze. “What do you want?” he asks.

“I want you to love in the way _you_ want to love. If you want to be selfish, then be selfish. If you want to fix things, then fix things. And if you want to be held, then find someone who does just that.”

“And who is that?” Cristiano dares to ask.

Gerard steps closer, their bodies touching from their chests down to their knees. “Someone who knows you, who defends you in front of the world. Who will make you feel things that frighten you because he goes in against your better judgment. I do not care if that person is me, or Kaká or Fabio, or basically anyone. This is what I mean with you needing to love in an egoistic way. You need someone who does all that, and for once in your life, you need to claim that love. It’s a right you have, Cri—”

“You.”

Gerard’s mouth is still a little open, not having finished his sentence but  the words get lost as Cristiano looks up at him.

“You,” is the only thing he says again. And Cristiano knows, he knows that Gerard understands what he means. He can’t say the words, not yet, but he knows the embodiment of those words, and that is the tall Spaniard who is just inches away. Not just figuratively this time, but literally as well.

Cristiano stands up on his toes, his hands cupping Gerard’s face as he kisses him. He truly kisses him this time, deepens it with the small sighs leaving Gerard’s lips.

And to everyone passing by, it might have looked like a scene from a romantic play, a couple kissing underneath a mistletoe, the snow trickling upon them from the clear-night’s sky with thousands of stars.

But Gerard’s breath tasted like coffee, and Cristiano was wearing socks in his slippers, too much gel in his hair and their teeth clashed a few times. They were shivering from the cold and their eyes fluttered open a few times during the kiss.

It was far from the perfect scene. But it was real, and that was as perfect as Cristiano needed it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know if you would like an Epilogue, and if so, ideas are very welcome!


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